


No Worse For Were

by Odaigahara



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Magic, Captivity, Cults, Cultural Differences, Dehumanization, Gen, Hurt Morality | Patton Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Coercion, Monster Hunters, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Sweetheart, Self-Harm, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24465376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara
Summary: He couldn't turn around.Patton knew it was silly to be so upset about it, but it stayed on his mind no matter what, relentless like a raven who'd found a tail to pluck. His thoughts would wander into a daydream of playing with new cubs or feeling a cool breeze or seeing the moon all full and beautiful, shining up where no one could touch her- and then he'd take a deep breath or shift his weight, and the bars of the crate would cut into his skin.*Or:In the human world, outside the sovereign Wilds, there's a market for magical beings. Patton's been captive for months, hiding his true nature to avoid a fate worse than death- but he's losing hope, and it's only a matter of time before his secret is revealed.When his captors finally find a buyer, he knows things can only get worse.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Dark Creativity | Remus & Deceit & Logic | Logan, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 66
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by delimeful's story "how easy you are to need", which is ridiculously amazing and you should read it at once.
> 
> I've had this first bit written for a while, so I figured I might polish it a bit while I'm working on other stuff. It's incredibly indulgent hurt/comfort and will get pretty dark, but I promise it'll have a happy ending.
> 
> Trigger warnings at end of chapter.
> 
> Also, the title is a pun, because I couldn't resist.

He couldn't turn around.

Patton knew it was silly to be so upset about it, but it stayed on his mind no matter what, relentless like a raven who'd found a tail to pluck. His thoughts would wander into a daydream of playing with new cubs or feeling a cool breeze or seeing the moon all full and beautiful, shining up where no one could touch her- and then he'd take a deep breath or shift his weight, and the bars of the crate would cut into his skin.

Things were easier now. When the hunters had first put him in the crate, he wasn't even able to stand up, too big to shuffle around without hurting himself. Now his fur had been worn thinner, and Patton could count his ribs, even turn his head to lick at wounds from when the hunters wanted to teach him a lesson.

One of them was missing an arm, mangled too badly to put back even with magic; that one always made a point to detour and hurt Patton, like making him bleed would make up for the lost limb. Patton had used to snarl back, bare his teeth because _if you didn't want to lose an arm you shouldn't be out kidnapping people, buster-_ but now he stayed quiet, cringing back as far as the cage allowed.

It didn't actually let him back up that far- definitely not enough to get out of range- but Patton liked to count his blessings. He made a game of it when he couldn't stand not thinking any longer. To win, he had to find three good things about his day, no matter how little.

So far he hadn't found anything good for _this_ day, but that was okay. Something nice might happen if he kept his eyes peeled.

He'd used to spend time looking ways to get out, too, but that had stopped after he'd killed the poachers who knew what he was. They'd caught him on the new moon with nets and silver knives, tying him so he couldn't bite- but he'd been so weak after he escaped. The full moon had trapped him on the outskirts without a voice.

The hunters who'd found him next thought he was a direwolf. They'd followed the blood trails and found him weak and panting, growling too weakly to be frightening, and hadn't even bothered fighting him outright. They'd held him down with magic, had choked him with a collar that cut into his neck and _tightened_ -

And the magic had forced him pliant.

Not before one of them had lost the right to _bear arms,_ though.

Patton put his head between his paws, tail curled under his legs so the one-armed hunter couldn't step on it. They kept the warehouse cold so the spell ingredients would keep, but Patton had discovered that staying still and tucking himself close let him preserve some heat. He could be warm if he tried: that was one nice thing for today. Yesterday the nice thing had been getting fresh meat instead of scraps. A couple of weeks ago it had been hearing about a failed pixie hunt on the outskirts, where the Wilds blurred with the mundane world and hunters prowled for vulnerable beings.

They weren't allowed to go any further. That was what poachers were for- going into the Wilds to steal anything they could catch and give hunters an excuse to get ingredients they couldn't otherwise. There was a market for magical corpses. Human magic relied on things like pixie wings and unicorn blood, taking its fuel from the Wilds like a parasite stealing from its host.

Still, some beings were worth more as living trophies: the other cages held color-changing alligators and ringtails with purple eyes, not magical but magic- _touched_ and mostly valued as curiosities. Patton's captors had two actual direwolves for that reason, uncollared and destined for the exotic pet trade. They were a mother and cub, lethargic and fearful, not as starved as Patton but still snapping at anyone who came close.

The sight of them made Patton's heart ache. He couldn't _do_ anything for them, not even comfort them, because trying to communicate would give him away. All he could do was watch.

Sapient catches were even rarer, since anyone raised in the Wilds knew to avoid the outskirts and its traps. Right now there was only a black-eyed, furious harpy who'd managed to kill the last person who tried to buy her, and Patton- but of course the hunters didn't know that.

They still thought he was a direwolf. That was the second good thing, one Patton counted every time he played his game, because if he was especially lucky- if they kept thinking that and eventually decided he was useless- they'd shoot him and that'd be it.

If he _wasn't_ lucky-

Animal shifters could regrow any organ but the heart if they had to, and all their parts were incredibly potent.

Hunters liked to kill them slow.

His captors didn't bother lighting the warehouse when no one was around to buy. Patton couldn't tell when it was night, since the collar cut off his magic and his moon sense with it, but the darkness made him want to sleep like it was winter, so that was all he did, most days. He slept, eating when they remembered to feed him, and when customers came he hid in the back of his cage and wished he was anywhere else.

Time dragged. Patton drowsed, tired and hungry and wishing he could forget about it for one measly second, until at some point the doors flung open and the lights came on. He flinched down in a hurry, doing his best to look small and uninteresting.

The hunter the harpy hated most- Patton thought his name was Maxwell, but mostly thought of him as a _jerk_ \- led a small group of people into the warehouse. Patton didn't recognize any of them, which meant they probably didn't know Patton was there. Third nice thing. Patton wagged his tail a little, because that meant he won.

The strangers came closer. Patton pricked his ears.

"- wide selection! The market's worked in our favor lately, what with storms and all driving the things south."

"Is that so?" one of the men asked, dark eyes roaming across the jars and cages. He stood straight like a prince, sword at his hip; Patton shrank down even more at the sight of it. He thought he recognized the carvings on the blade. _Protection/good hunting/swift kill-_ the traditional hunting runes, with a couple modifications. That sword would cut through him like silver, and he couldn't expect _argent_ -lemanly conduct from the hunter wielding it, either. It wouldn't matter how he couldn't fight back. "I say, that's- absolutely fascinating. What manner of beasts would you say have been chased down?"

"All kinds," Maxwell said, waving a hand. "My associates have been finding species we haven't seen in years- pixies, fire salamanders, even a _naga_ if you'll believe it..." The prince made an impressed sound, and Maxwell took it as license to continue, leading him along the rows of goods with another hunter, wearing a dress shirt and necktie, in tow. The third hunter was paler than the other two, in darker clothes with deep circles under his eyes; at the second's nod he broke off from the group and wandered around, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

All a person had to do to reveal Patton as a werewolf was touch him with silver and see if he burned. The regulars didn't look at him at all, since they were used to him, but if a new customer saw him they could get curious. They could ask his captors what he was, if he might maybe be a werewolf, and Maxwell would say _no_ and they'd say _can we check_ and then they'd would get the silver and-

Patton stifled a whine and huddled into his paws.

The hunter in the hoodie inspected the rows of dry ingredients, the tiny cages of enchanted birds and insects, and the illegal spell books with the same level of vague interest, browsing in a way Patton suspected was mostly due to boredom. The other two stayed deep in conversation with Maxwell, though the one in the necktie kept frowning at the harpy in her cage high on the wall. Patton snuffled, wondering if it was worth it to listen in on the conversation or if it would just make him sad, and the third hunter paused his inspection of the ringtail and glanced up at him, shoulders stiffening. The cub in the other cage whined, dragging the hunter's attention away, but he looked back at Patton a second later, mouth twisting. Patton fought not to cringe away as he stepped closer.

_Oh, no no no please don't look at me, please just move on-_

"Pretty shitty here, isn't it?" the hunter asked softly. Patton pinned his ears back and didn't move, fear pooling in his belly. If he suspected Patton could understand him- if he _knew-_ "You know those guys?" the hunter asked, inclining his head at the direwolves, and Patton kept looking up at him, pretending he didn't know what he was saying. "Yeah, that figures," the man muttered. "How long have you been here, anyway? No _way_ it's legal to keep you like this."

Patton cocked his head. Surely this fella realized this was a black market operation- half the time hunters used black markets as much as legal, everyone knew they didn't care as long as they got what they wanted- but the hunter's expression only darkened.

Patton heard footsteps, ears canting without permission to take them in. The one in the necktie came up and said, voice clipped, "Virgil? I believe we're done here."

"Yeah?" Virgil didn't move. Patton kind of wanted to cry. _Go away, please go away-_ "Anything good?"

"Unfortunately, yes," the other man sighed. "It's almost certainly a rusalka."

Virgil scoffed, "In _Flori_ \- you know what, I don't care. Does that mean we can go?"

"Thankfully," the first hunter muttered. Maxwell's face soured. Patton, too familiar with that expression, froze.

"Leaving already? Here I thought we had a deal, Kingsley. I'd give you information, and you'd give _me_ a sale."

"We've already paid you," the hunter with the necktie said. "Economically speaking, it would make more sense for you to keep the money and sell your wares to others in order to gain _more."_

Maxwell shrugged. "You could say that, sure. But some of these are looking to be failed investments, if you know what I mean, and I'd _hate_ to leave a customer unsatisfied. Wouldn't want you telling anyone _unsavory_ about my establishment, steering clear of the shit 'cause you never got your hands dirty yourselves." The hunters tensed, and Maxwell smiled, humorless and uncompromising. Patton's other captors, content to lurk in the background for the tour, started watching more closely. "So, I figured you might want to take something off my hands. Say, that direwolf you're looking at?"

"Excuse me?" the hunter in the tie demanded.

Virgil glanced down at Patton, looking distinctly guilty, and mumbled, "I was just wondering about that thing on his neck."

Maxwell perked up and came closer. Patton whimpered, hunching down and pressing against the back of the cage. He couldn't get away far, but maybe, if he was really careful and quiet, maybe they'd all change their minds-

"That _thing_ is the answer to all your problems," Maxwell said, unlatching the cage door and stepping back with a flourish. The first hunter swore and reached for his sword, making Patton flinch back farther, but Maxwell snapped, "Come out," and he had to obey, creeping up with his tail between his legs. "Don't look so _scared_ ," his captor added, and Patton straightened up, wobbling on his feet. The collar pushed at his mind, kept him from cringing from Maxwell's touch. He felt his captor's hand between his ears and whined.

Maxwell's grip tightened. "It's a new prototype, all the way from Siberia. Makes even the worst monsters obey no matter how much they want you dead." Maxwell laughed. The hunters didn't laugh with him. "The wolf doesn't have to understand what you're saying, 'cause the collar compels it to listen anyway. Think of it like an automatic translator." He glanced down at Patton, eyes full of hate. Maxwell had been there when he was captured; Patton would've killed him, too, if the mage hadn't pinned him down first. "This one's no joke, either. He's a maneater. He killed ten people up in Colorado- tore my buddy's arm off before we got the collar on. But you look at him now, he's as docile as a kitten."

"Really," the hunter in the necktie said. "And how does the collar recognize who to obey?"

"Blood magic," Maxwell said, and the hunter went still. "Nothing dangerous, you understand, but enough to make sure it doesn't follow every jackass in earshot. Right now it's keyed to me, but for six hundred dollars it could be keyed to you, instead."

"Only six hundred?" Virgil asked suspiciously. Maxwell grinned.

"Think of it as a clearance sale. Your choice, of course, but even this sorry excuse for a direwolf is guaranteed to be a great tracker. Even in _water_."

The three hunters exchanged glances, before the first one asked, hand hovering above his sword, "What happens to it otherwise? If it's such an, ah. Failed investment."

"We'll slaughter it, sell it for parts," Maxwell said. "Say, if you'd rather just have its _liver_ -"

Patton yelped, and Virgil jumped. The first hunter said hurriedly, "You did _say_ we need a way to track it, Teach."

"By _supporting-"_ Teach pinched his nose, hissing out a sigh from behind his teeth. "Virgil? Please tell me you don't agree with him."

Virgil shrugged, looking away at nothing in particular. "We do need a tracker," he hedged, "and it's not like we can't afford it, right?"

"We _have_ had a recent windfall," the first hunter piped up.

Teach shot him a sharp look, then sighed. "Ugh, fine." He turned to Maxwell. "Shall we complete this transaction now? I suddenly find myself developing a _headache_."

"Of course," Maxwell said with a grin. They spoke for a moment, Patton too panicked to follow along, before Maxwell plucked a needle from his belt and ran a finger along it with a visible spark of magic. Sterilizing it, Patton thought nervously. For what? What did he need a needle for, what if he _knew_ and he was gonna tell them so they could tear him apart together? "One drop from each of you should do the trick."

Teach surveyed the needle with a distasteful scowl, then reached out and pricked his thumb. The other two copied him until blood beaded and dripped down the needle; then Maxwell pulled Patton closer and brushed his hands over the collar, warmth seeping in and starting to _burn-_

Patton yelped, jerking back and crying as the collar blazed hotter and hotter, barbs tearing through his neck. It subsided after an endless moment, leaving him panting and shivering, shrunk low in case one of the hunters was mad. Maxwell said, satisfied, "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Not the word _I'd_ use," Virgil muttered.

Teach cast a censorious look at him and bit out, "Thank you. I assume he'll follow our orders now?"

"That's right. And the collar already keeps him docile. Won't have to order him not to attack."

Teach looked down at Patton, inscrutable behind his glasses. "If _that's_ all," he muttered, and then, louder: "Come with us. Stay at my heels."

Patton obeyed, limping toward his new owners and trying to keep his tail straight. His legs ached, muscles stretching for the first time in weeks. He saw the first hunter's expression blacken as he got closer and struggled not to hunch down again. They might kill him right here, since they'd gotten him so cheap. He had to show willing.

He followed them out of the warehouse, brightening at the hint of freedom. Patton's ears pricked at the barrage of new sounds and smells: he was somewhere near the coast, air warm and salty-humid, and the hunters sounded American. He might not have been taken as far as he'd thought.

One more nice thing: whatever happened, Patton got to see the night sky one last time.

The hunters piled into an old minivan, the first one taking the drivers' seat as Virgil clambered into the back. "You can come in," he told Patton, smelling of fear, and Patton jumped in after him, flopping against the leather seat. His whole body hurt. "Here, I'm gonna- let me buckle you in," Virgil said after a moment, reaching over his body like he thought Patton might up and attack. Patton shivered as the seat belt clicked, not even whining when the strap dug the collar into his neck. He could feel blood seeping through his fur.

The engine started, and the first hunter burst out, "Okay, what the _fuck_ was that?"

Patton whimpered at the angry tone- that never meant anything good, not from a hunter- and Virgil snapped, "Inside voice, Princey, ever heard of it?"

"Oh, fine, Panic At The Everywhere, whatever you say- but what the fuck was that?" He pulled out onto the road, taking a hand from the wheel to gesticulate. "I mean, was there really no better way to get information? We had to go inside Ursula's lair with all the little wriggly things and sign a contract for our _souls_ just to find out what's killing all the hikers?"

"Our contact _insisted_ Eric Maxwell was our best option," Teach said sourly.

"He told us it's a rusalka," Princey said. "In _Florida."_ Patton's ears pricked.

"They've been known to migrate. Though I can't say I feel the information was worth associating ourselves with the figurative seedy underbelly of our profession."

"Oh, wow, Logan, what gave you that idea?" Virgil asked. "The creepy atmosphere or the _rampant animal abuse?"_

"Both, obviously." Teach- Logan?- glanced back at Patton. "We really shouldn't have supported him by becoming customers. It's not best practice."

" _Best practice_ is not leaving an innocent creature in the hands of those monsters."

"An innocent creature who killed ten people?" Logan demanded. "A _wild animal_ bound by some sort of external geas? You _must_ know we can't keep him."

Patton's stomach clenched. That meant- he didn't know what that meant, except that they'd probably want to take him apart, too. Couldn't keep him, couldn't let him go because he was a _monster,_ and if they found out the truth it would be so much _worse_ -

"It's not like we can do anything else with him," Virgil argued. "He's a direwolf. He'll be useful, right? We can stop the drownings and shit." He paused. "We should probably give him a name."

"Don't. We'll have to get rid of him. There's no point getting attached."

"Oh, come now-"

"We don't have the budget or the _room_ , Roman," Logan snapped. "We can keep him for this hunt, but afterwards he has to go. It's the responsible thing to do."

Patton felt terror crawl up inside him, eating at him under his fur where the collar couldn't reach. The enchantment couldn't stop him being scared, like it maybe could with a real direwolf. Sometimes he really wished it could, though. If he was mindless, maybe he wouldn't even feel it when he died. He'd stop thinking and the rest of him would stop, just like that. Death wouldn't be so bad in that case, would it? It'd be like taking a nap, was all, except he wouldn't wake up after. It might even feel nice.

He hid his face in his paws, pretending to be spooked by the drive instead of Logan's words. Everything was _fine._ This was what he'd thought would happen. Some hunters had bought him, and they'd keep him alive as long as he was useful. All he had to do was keep up the charade, and he'd die quickly. Direwolves _had_ to be killed fast if you wanted their organs, since they didn't heal like shifters. Unlike werewolves, they were a short-term investment.

"Don't worry about them," Virgil said, and Patton looked up warily. "They're always like that, it's fucking annoying. It's not because of you." The hunter reached out a hand and scratched behind his ear. "Hey," Virgil said, softer now. "It's okay. You'll be okay."

Patton knew that couldn't be true, but he nudged into the hunter's touch anyway, whining low in his throat. The contact felt like soft fire under his skin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunters take Patton home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end of chapter
> 
> Posted last minute, so some edits- for flow and grammar- may be made.

The hunters pulled up outside of a house in an underdeveloped suburb, half-surrounded by woods. Normal woods, not Wilds-touched; Patton's tail halted its brief, tentative wag. He wouldn't be getting help from other races, then- the ones who stayed on the outskirts to help humans or bother them. That was okay. A brownie or bridge troll could peg Patton for a werewolf in a heartbeat, and then where would he be? Nowhere good, that was for sure.

Not that he was anywhere good _now_ , but Patton liked to look for silver linings. Right now, listening to the hunters argue in the van, he was trying to be grateful that he hadn't grown up as a hunter. These ones couldn't seem to go five seconds without breaking into some kind of argument.

Hunters were trained from childhood, isolated from most other humans to get them used to the magic they had to use for their jobs- Patton remembered that much about his mother's lessons. He remembered being horrified when he learned how hunters started training in the first place: they made their cubs harvest ingredients young, so they wouldn't see anything wrong with hurting other sapients, and sometimes they used those same cubs as bait, faking abandonment to lure shifters out. He didn't want to imagine what that kind of upbringing would do to a kiddo.

At least his new owners hadn't been cruel so far.

"Fine! But don't call upon my skills when the Homeowners' Association arrives at our door with torches and pitchforks," the first hunter exclaimed, throwing his hands up; they'd been arguing about whether they should sneak Patton around the back to hide him from the neighbors, and Patton guessed they'd finally realized it looked even sillier to mill around in front of their own house with their brights on for ten minutes. "Which, mark my words, they _will._ It's that veritable gorgon Miranda's one joy in life, calling them down on our heads."

"She wouldn't keep reporting us if _someone_ would mow the lawn," Virgil said from where he was pressed up against the door, as far from Patton as possible. Once the van had started moving, he'd gotten a lot more wary about touching him, especially since Patton had started shying from his hands.

"On the contrary, the last complaint was related to our mailbox. The lawn has nothing to do with it."

" _Nor_ is it my responsibility! Do I look like someone suited to manual labor? Why, the sheer indignity of it all would surely send me to an early grave-"

"That's a _plus_ ," Virgil drawled. The first hunter gasped in offense, and Patton took advantage of their distraction to look at his surroundings properly.

The houses farther up the street had been closer together, respectably landscaped with crepe myrtles and neat sterile yards, but the hunters' was a ramshackle mess. Patton didn't know much about human lawns, but he was pretty darn sure that grass was supposed to be cut evenly, not to mention that poor low-to-the-ground palm tree with its buildup of dead leaves. The paint on the walls was chipping, new colors applied haphazardly on top and letting the old bleed through, and the stairs leading up to the porch sagged into the grass.

They didn't have a lot of money, Patton concluded, and he took in the information numbly. They'd spent their recent windfall on Patton. So, if he knew human culture, which he thought he sort of did... they'd use him to catch the rusalka, and then, since they thought he was a direwolf, they'd kill him. They'd be really upset when the truth came out, but by then it would be okay. Not even human magic could punish Patton once he was dead.

The engine switched off. Virgil bit his lip, coming out of his stressed huddle against the door, and reached over to unbuckle Patton's seat belt. Patton kept perfectly still as he did, hyper-aware of how the hunter's breath caught at every twitch of his ears. "Okay. You can come out now." His hand flinched to his waist when Patton moved, but he didn't draw any weapons. He stepped out of the van and held the door for Patton to creep after him.

The first hunter- Roman, Patton reminded himself viciously, he might as well know their names- sucked in a breath at the sight of him. "By Andrew Lloyd Webber's nonexistent ghost, he is a big one, isn't he. The last direwolf I met was only three-quarters this size."

"The last direwolf you met was a juvenile female, and we were sixteen at the time," Logan said. "Hardly a relevant comparison."

"It evens out," Roman protested. "I was smaller then, too." He turned to Patton with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Patton's eyes came up to his chest, even hunched down; at his full height, he thought he might dwarf Virgil and Logan completely. "You're as big as a pony, aren't you? Perhaps-"

"We're not calling him that," Virgil cut in. "Logan already _said_ we can't give him a name."

"Well, _excuse_ me for exercising my creative muscles-"

"Maybe work on your _normal_ muscles first. I saw you trying to lift that ghoul the other day."

"It had just eaten five corpses! You can't blame me for my inability to lift _six people at once."_

"Can, did." Ignoring Roman's offended sputtering, Virgil added to Patton, "Follow us inside, okay?"

The collar pushed the order on him, and Patton found himself trailing the three hunters up the steps, standing to the side as Logan fiddled with the door. The scent of fresh blood reached his nose; Logan had pricked his hand on the doorknob, making the etchings glow oceanic blue. Wards? He guessed that made sense for hunters. Most of what his parents had told him was how to avoid getting caught: don't travel in the outskirts, keep a sharp eye on the stars to see if they change, never enter the human world without your human form. They'd only had one piece of advice for if he couldn't escape.

His mother had explained their kind's place in the human world in a low voice, one winter night when snowstorms had them trapped in the den. _Humans don't have their own magic. They have to make it from other things, like how they_ _cook their meat before they eat it. If they catch a pixie, they kill them and take their wings. If they catch a hide-behind, they kill it and take its skin. If they catch a werewolf-_

 _They kill us!_ Patton had piped up, sensing the pattern. Emile had stayed silent, always quicker on the uptake, and their mother had looked at them grimly.

 _They keep us alive,_ she'd corrected tiredly. Their mother had always been cheerful, and negative emotions exhausted her as much as they did Patton. _And take our insides and our outsides, careful so it heals back, weeks and weeks on end._

 _But that would hurt,_ Emile had said, uncomprehending. _Not like killing, or hunting-_

_They don't care how much we hurt. Cubs, listen to me. Our pain doesn't put a single tear in a human's eye. If you're ever caught, if you can't get away-  
_

_The best you can do is cheat them of your life.  
_

Crossing the threshold sent shivers up Patton's spine. The iron horseshoe over the door didn't bother him, but he could see a silver knife on the mantle and felt the whisper of the wards passing through him, so strong the collar couldn't damp them out completely. The hunters might've been careless about exterior decor, but they weren't slacking on security: runes were etched along the baseboard and the ceiling, only half-recognizable. He could read protections against fire and floods and break-ins, standard enough for pack dwellings in the Wilds, but the rest of the characters were based on human magic, either strengthening or guarding against it.

Patton tried not to wonder how many shifters had seen inside hunters' wards and survived.

Roman gusted out a sigh and took off his sword. Virgil edged around Patton to sit on the arm of one of the living room chairs, which smelled a lot like old sweat and bloodstains; Patton sat on the carpet between them, tucked into himself and keeping low.

"So, uh." Virgil hugged himself, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie. "Is it too late to go grocery shopping?"

"Do we have the money for groceries?" Roman wondered. "We've exhausted the payoff from that grimy, grave-robbing ghoul, but I suppose there's always savings. Or I suppose, if worst comes to worst-"

"Fake a fallout and move to different houses?" 

"The purchase was in my name," Logan said, looking down at Patton with crossed arms. "Even if we were to engage in such an infantile ruse, the guild would have no reason to give you funds for a direwolf I've obtained."

Roman grimaced. " _And_ they'd want a cut."

"Bastards."

"Regardless of political considerations," Logan said icily, "The fact remains that we have nothing to feed this specimen of _Canis dirus_. Unless you're laboring under the mistaken belief that a direwolf can subsist off of ice cream and ramen."

"We can go shopping for the bare minimum tomorrow," Roman said. "I'm sure we could split the cost of slaughtering a cow between us and Dee or Remus, and I could always provide venison. We can make do."

" _Can_ we split the cost?" Virgil asked. "The guild's not paying us."

"The Association can bitch all it wants, but they'll have to admit we were right eventually," Roman said with a shrug. "It's hardly _my_ fault their priorities are out of wack. And anyway, Microsoft Nerd, isn't there a reward for the rusalka?"

"If you're suggesting we go into _debt-"_ Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Whatever. We can deal with this in the morning. For now, I suggest we prioritize. Do we still have blankets in the linen closet?"

"They're musty."

Roman snapped, "We're not exactly swimming in options here, Brad Pitiful."

"Correct," Logan said. "We are not. But until we find a better arrangement, I suggest you both set up something of a dog bed in the basement. Meanwhile, I will endeavor to scavenge suitable food from the kitchen. If nothing else, hydration would not be amiss." He glanced down at Patton and motioned sharply with his head. "Follow me."

He went to the kitchen and Patton followed, wavering by the entrance in case he wasn't allowed inside. Logan waved him forward and set a bowl of water on the floor. Patton froze at the sight of it, licking his muzzle uncertainly and aching with thirst. The water was right there, and he hadn't been given any for at least a day- but the hunters who'd caught him did this all the time, too. This could be a test. Maybe he was supposed to leave it, be obedient and ignore the thirst scratching inside him. Maybe they didn't really wanna waste resources on him just yet and were checking to see if he was any good to keep around.

But the water was _right there._

Patton whined, torn, and Logan bit out, "It's for you. Faraday knows how much you actually understand what any of us are saying, being an animal of questionable mental capability, but perhaps your irresponsibly-applied blood compulsion will translate this for you: this water is meant for your consumption. _Consume it."_

Another order. Patton absorbed the mental blow and slunk forward, lowering his head to the bowl. The water tasted strange and chemical, like all the water humans gave him, but it was smooth going down his throat, deliciously cool; he had to pace himself so he wouldn't throw up, and even then he kept forgetting and scarfing it down too fast so he had to cough it up. Logan watched him the whole time, stiff and glaring, but the expected blow never came, not even when Patton started making a mess.

Finally Logan moved forward, and Patton backed up in a hurry, ceding the bowl to his control. The hunter picked up the bowl and put it in the sink, then left without another word, letting the collar drag Patton after him. Roman met them in the hall.

"It's not what I'd call five-star treatment," he said, leaning against the wall. There was a door next to him, more beaten-down than the others. Patton smelled dust and cool air and felt his heart sink. It looked like he wouldn't be seeing the sky again after all. "Are we really keeping him in the basement, of all places? It seems so inelegant."

"It will have to do for tonight," Logan said stiffly. "Does Circe still allow you access to guild libraries?"

Roman made a face. "Yes, but there might be questions. It's not as if _I'm_ known for book learning. They'll suspect your involvement."

"Let them. We'll inform them of our intentions to remove an enchantment to preserve the sanctity of ingredients we plan to harvest. Blood-tainted parts are an infection risk, after all."

The sliver of hope in Patton's chest shriveled and died. He pinned back his ears, almost grateful that the compulsion kept him from breaking and trying to run, and quashed a terrified whimper.

This was what he wanted. A quick death was the best case scenario, he _knew_ it was, why was he being so stupid about this?

"If they think we're _all_ benefiting from this, won't they want something from me and Roman?" Virgil asked. He held up a plastic package and added, "Also, can I microwave this or would it kill me."

"It's Roman and _I,_ " Logan corrected, "And they can hardly demand tribute from an excommunicated member. So long as the direwolf legally belongs to me, their own laws prevent their making a claim. Also, no, do not microwave frozen ground beef. It will do as food, but you'll have to retrieve a pan from under the stove and brown it- preferably without burning the house down."

"That was one time."

"You attracted a _wyrm-"_

"Once! _One_ time! And we got money for it, so it's not like the whole thing was pointless, unlike half of _your_ harebrained ideas-"

"My mistake, Jason Toddler, I must have forgotten the time _you_ defeated three poltergeists single-handedly," Roman sniffed. "Are you done constructing the nest, at least? Did you take the opportunity to add cobwebs to all the corners that have so far gone without?"

Virgil hissed, baring his teeth like an angry cat, and Patton startled. For a moment he had the wild thought that Virgil wasn't human, either, just faking like Patton was faking being a wolf- before Roman, frozen with horror, burst out, " _Virgil!_ You know you can't do things like that! People might think-"

"If they're stupid enough to think I'm inhuman because I made a sound, they're too stupid to live," Virgil said, rolling his eyes. "And, hey, if they kill me it's still legally murder. Win-win."

Logan said, miffed, "You'd be deceased."

"I know what I said." Virgil transferred his gaze to Patton, smirk falling. "You should probably come on down. It's not super fancy, but we don't have anywhere else to put you, so. Sorry."

"There's no need to apologize. Direwolves aren't capable of understanding human speech."

"They're capable of understanding tone and expression," Virgil shot back. "I mean, jeez, L. I know you're allergic to feelings, but try to have a little sympathy. He's been stuck in a cage for like a year."

"Sympathy won't solve the central problem," Logan gritted out. "But if you're so intent on winning its trust, feel free. Only be aware that it isn't staying."

"Whatever," Virgil said, glowering. "C'mon, wolf."

He led them down into a dark, badly-lit basement. Every wall but one was covered with metal shelving and moving boxes; against the one free wall was a pile of towels and blankets, surrounded by a circle of scattered blood. "Virgil," Logan said disapprovingly, and the other hunter bristled. One of his palms was bandaged.

"I made it warmer. You know, since Princey's too lazy to figure out how to fix the heating down here."

"This is Florida, we don't need heating," Roman said indignantly. "If anything, this basement is our defense against heatstroke."

"Yeah, well, right now I'm defending against hypothermia." Virgil crouched next to the blankets and coaxed, "C'mon. You haven't had a bed in a while, have you? This'll feel nice."

Roman snorted. Virgil bared his teeth again. Patton watched the interaction nervously, in case they got violent and took it out on him, but it seemed more like pack teasing than actual fighting; he took the risk and crept forward to sniff at the blankets, then drew back in surprise at the warmth. He glanced at the hunters again- no hands on any weapons, and they all looked pretty relaxed- and flopped down, letting out a quiet whine of relief. It was so soft, and nice, and warm and soft and he was so _tired..._

"Is that your comforter?" Logan asked above him, and Patton caught Virgil's shrug in his peripheral vision. He put his chin between his paws, tail curled neatly at his side, and let the heat seep through his fur. The conversation went on over his head.

"Should we feed him, do you think?"

"In the morning. Look, he's already going to sleep."

"Circe won't be happy. She'll claim we're hoarding resources. She'll want _parts._ "

And Logan's voice, drifting over Patton's head as exhaustion lulled him to sleep: "If the chairwoman desires rare ingredients so badly, she can come take their so-called _source_ herself."

"She won't like that," came Virgil's voice, and Logan scoffed.

"I have no particular interest in what she does or doesn't like. To be perfectly honest- I'll even word this in more colloquial terms, so as to get it through even Roman's thick skull- Circe can go fuck herself. My affairs, and by extension yours, are no longer her concern. If that reality is not to her liking," and here Logan's voice went hard, cutting through Patton's sleepy haze like teeth through flesh- "She can come challenge me _herself."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: assumptions of non-sapience; implied/reference mutilation, torture, and death; fear of abuse; referring to a person as "it"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton is not having a fun time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's at end of chapter.
> 
> As usual, might come back later to edit a little for flow.

Logan and Virgil came back into the basement that night, so late it must've almost been the next morning. Patton was lying in the back corner, where he'd clumped all the blankets together into the fluffiest nest he could make. He rose to a crouch when the door opened, in case they were mad that he'd moved the nest, but neither of them seemed upset; Virgil paled, then relaxed when he spied Patton's new position, and Logan didn't seem to notice a difference at all.

Patton's whole body hurt. For a selfish moment he wished they'd just turn around and _go away,_ let him have a few more hours of peace, but of course he didn't have a say in that. He lurched himself upright, pain tearing through his neck as the half-healed cuts under the collar chafed, and sat at attention. Virgil frowned at the sight of him.

There was a bowl in his hands. Patton caught the scent of cooked beef and had to stop himself from lunging forward. He'd eaten a day or two ago, when his captors had tossed him the remains of some poor jackalope they'd butchered, but rabbits weren't very big and he'd only gotten the useless organs; his stomach had burned through it in a few hours.

It might have been another test. They had to want to test the collar's limits at some point, at least to see how Patton had to act even without orders. 

It might _not_ be a test, though, and it smelled so _good-_

"Are we feeding him here or outside?" Virgil asked, casting Patton an unreadable look, and his ears pricked forward.

"Outside," Logan answered distractedly. He was juggling stuff in his arms, too: soap, a washcloth, and something earthy and pungent that reeked of magic.

Patton's feeble cheer deflated. His captors had used a couple of spells on him before- one to clean him every few days so customers wouldn't be distracted by his filth, and another to keep his wounds getting infected when Maxwell or his friends lost their tempers- and it had always felt like getting dumped in a sea of blood, choking and hotly metallic. Human magic usually relied on outside sources, sure, but for littler spells they could cause themselves pain and externalize it, using their own meager connection to the magic of the earth. It wasn't natural, though, wasn't fresh or pleasant; it felt like violence every time.

He wasn't really looking forward to finding out how _this_ magic would feel.

"Got it," Virgil said, tilting the bowl at Patton like he wanted to make sure he knew there was food. It was a silly thing to do, since even little cubs could smell meat and think _eat it,_ but Patton guessed he didn't know that. Human noses were pretty dang bad. "Wanna come upstairs with us?"

"The compulsion doesn't allow for a full understanding of English," Logan said, but Virgil glared at him and he paused. "Ah. Is this that _tone_ you mentioned?"

"Yep." Patton inched closer, wondering if he could grab a bite without the hunters noticing, and Virgil nearly jumped out of his pants. Patton skittered back. "Shit, don't do- wait, no, not an order-" He cut himself off and groaned. "Look, Logan, just- talk like he's Thomas. You talk to Thomas, right?"

"My interactions with Thomas consist almost entirely of lectures and exposition," Logan said primly. "Are you suggesting that I explain the intersection of warding and astronomy to a wild animal?"

There was a pause. "You realize Thomas is nine, right."

Logan sighed. "Let's just go outside."

They went out through the back door, and Patton's tail rose into an unwitting wag; their backyard was huge and unfenced, dipping downhill into dense scrubby woods and high enough on the hill that he could see the first flush of sunrise across the clouds. The air was bright with birdsong. Patton took in the sweet scents of early morning- the grass, the lingering trails of rabbits in the grass, even the car exhaust _-_ and exclaimed in his head, _three good things!_ He won again.

"You can eat if you want," Virgil said. Patton startled and watched him warily, waiting for the trick, but he only put the bowl down and stepped away. "No one's gonna see us," the hunter added, like he thought Patton was nervous about other humans and not the ones in front of him.

The humans in front of him were gonna do what they wanted no matter what, though, so they might as well do it to a Patton with a full stomach.

He darted forward, secured the bowl between his front legs, and stuck his whole muzzle inside. The meat was in little pieces, cooked dark, but Patton couldn't care less that it wasn't raw. It was rich and greasy, better than anything he'd eaten for months, and for once it wasn't the byproduct of some poor creature's tortuous death. _That_ was all that mattered.

The ache in his belly abated, shocked into silence by the presence of food _._ Patton couldn't help but wave his tail a tiny bit at the relief. He licked up the rest of the grease, pawing at his muzzle and cleaning his paws to make sure he got all of it, and the hunters actually _let_ him. They didn't even take away the bowl!

Patton decided to add one more good thing to the list.

Logan looked at him for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, "I suggest we wash him before tending his injuries."

Injuries? Patton cocked his head, anxiety rearing up to gnaw at him. He wasn't bleeding, didn't have any open wounds- what did they think was wrong with him? What if they thought he was too hurt and decided to save themselves the trouble and-

"Aw, you said _him,"_ Virgil drawled, and Logan drew back in a huff. "Don't look like that, it's too late to take it back. Want me to get the hose?"

"That would be ideal," Logan said, and called Patton forward to watch him intently. "I've been informed that it might soothe you to be spoken to in a calm and even manner, as if you were another human being or other sapient creature," he addressed him. "As such, I am going to narrate my actions as I complete them. My hope is that doing so will give you some measure of comfort, inasmuch as a creature in your situation can be comforted. Do you find this course of action satisfactory?"

Patton confusedly licked his nose, not sure if 'inasmuch' was actually a word. Virgil snickered. "Oh my god, you're such a nerd." He held up the garden hose. "Is this seriously how you talk to your nephew?"

Logan bristled. "You've seen us interact."

"I had worse things to think about then. Don't expect me to multitask."

"Can I _expect_ you to bring me the hose?"

Virgil brought him the hose. "Don't screw this up," he warned. "The water's cold."

"I fail to imagine how I would _screw up_ using a garden hose," Logan said tartly. He ran water over his hand, nodded, and turned to Patton. "The water will be slightly chilly. I suggest that you brace yourself accordingly. My first action will be to run the stream over your fur in order to wash away dust and grime. My next action will be the application of soap. We are not in possession of canine bathing products, so we are using human body wash instead. The scent may be displeasing." He glanced to Virgil. "Am I performing the proper tone?"

"It's better," Virgil said, lips quirked. "You don't have to explain it like an algorithm, though. He's not gonna have to copy us exactly."

Logan sniffed, "Any action worth taking is worth completing. I will not reduce my efforts in cultivating a comforting tone to- what's the word- 'halfassery'." Patton could hear the air quotes. "Remain still," Logan added, apparently for his benefit. "If water passes over your eyes, you may close them."

The splash of water made Patton shiver, bereft of the fat that usually kept him warm. True to his word, Logan drenched him completely, flattening his fur to his skin; then he took the soap and rubbed it into Patton's pelt, much gentler than he'd expected. The water ran dark with dirt, grime sloughing off with Logan's effort; the hunter had to keep wringing out the washcloth so it'd stay usable.

Even if he'd been able to speak, Patton wouldn't have been able to describe the sheer relief of being cleaned. He leaned into the scrubbing when he could get away with it, angling his head to give better access to the underside of his jaw and nudging into the hunter's touch. Logan narrated the entire time, occasionally interspersed with orders- "Please lift your back left leg," was the worst, since Patton could never remember which side was left- but was never rough, never impatient; he stripped old blood and dirt from Patton's body, ruthlessly thorough, but didn't linger on the parts of him that'd been rubbed raw and pink by the bars- didn't press fingers into them to make him yelp or hit him when he twitched.

In the end, he hosed Patton down one more time, leaving him in a puddle of artificially sweet suds, and sent Virgil for a towel. Patton stood still while he dried him, fighting not to nuzzle into the touch like an anxious cub.

"You're not gray?" Virgil asked, blinking at him. Patton cocked his head, unable to respond, and Virgil added, grimacing, "You don't have to stay still anymore."

Patton gave in to instinct and shook out his fur, sending water everywhere. Virgil snickered.

"Cream fur isn't particularly unusual for direwolves," Logan said, uncovering the bowl he'd brought with him. The earthy smell got stronger, less like dirt and more like rotting. "They have a wider range of phenotypes than their mundane counterparts. Lie down."

Virgil said dryly, "I'm fine standing, but thanks. It's nice to know you care."

"You know _very well_ that I was addressing the wolf."

Patton pressed his belly to the grass. Logan crouched next to him, just out of his peripheral vision; he had to fight not to whimper, instinct beating him over the head with the urge to roll over and submit. "He's scared," Virgil observed, voice tight.

"It's to be expected." Logan drew a finger through the bowl, coating it in a dark, sticky paste. The magic-scent was nearly unbearable, _human_ mingled with dust and decay. "This will help with the raw patches in your fur," Logan said, and Patton stilled even further. "It's made from the corpse of a ghoul," the hunter added, and that was- it wasn't _as_ bad, but-

Ghouls weren't sapient. They were corpse-robbers, scavengers, predators if they found something weak enough, and maybe humans could be justified driving _them_ off- but humans didn't only hunt what threatened them. They hunted what gave them power.

They hunted people like Patton. And a month from now, maybe there'd be a different person in this spot, shaking and knowing they were next as Logan told them the salve was made of werewolf, and the hunters would say _you don't have to worry, it's meant to help_ and never mind how it was made of _people-_

Logan touched his skin, and Patton broke. He wrenched himself back, lips drawing back in a desperate snarl, not even able to stand because he had to follow _orders._ He bristled, whining in his throat but the growling was louder and he _knew_ it looked like a threat, like he was about to attack, and everyone knew what hunters did when they were attacked _-_

Logan jerked to his feet and stumbled back, pale with shock. "Virgil!"

The other hunter was up, too, strung taut and flexing his fingers like he was about to cast a spell. Patton pressed even farther back, wishing he could run. "What did you _do?"_ Virgil demanded.

"I only touched him!" Logan snapped. "I- perhaps he's experiencing more pain than we thought-"

"Right, sure, whatever," Virgil gritted out, and then, "If he bites my face off, I'm blaming you."

The words didn't make sense. Patton _couldn't_ bite them. The collar wouldn't let him. All they had to do was give him an order if they wanted him quiet and they _knew_ that, had to know that because Maxwell _told_ them-

Virgil shrugged Logan off his arm and came up to Patton, sinking to his knees. Patton snapped at him, but he moved forward anyway and put a hand on Patton's nose. His fingers were shaking. His sweat reeked of fear. Patton whined, unable to attack and not really wanting to. "It's okay," Virgil said, strained. Patton could've fit his entire head in his mouth. "Logan just _looks_ like a hardass, it's like his nerd brand. He's not gonna hurt you. Or, I guess- it'll hurt for a minute, and then it'll help. Like, uh, going to the dentist." He made a face. "Not that you know about dentists, since you're a wolf, but. You know what I mean."

The hunter ran a hand along his muzzle, petting his head and neck, keeping his touch soft. Patton trembled and whimpered, unable to pull away. It hurt to be touched after so long without. His skin cried out for it, burning with the memory at each point of contact and making him ache for more. He nosed into the touch helplessly, wanting to cry, because there was no way they weren't gonna punish him after this. Virgil was being nice to make it worse, make him force his guard down so being punished would really _hurt_ , and Patton couldn't, he couldn't- he wanted to go _home-_ "Shhh, shhh, it's all okay," Virgil soothed. "Just look at me. Logan's gonna fix you up just fine."

Patton cried, high and piercing like a puppy's wail, and Virgil shushed him again, pulling his head into his lap. "Look at me," he said softly, like Patton really was some dumb animal scared of what he didn't understand, but that wasn't the problem _._ Patton knew they wanted to heal him. He just also knew they were gonna hurt him, and use him for their own ends, and kill him over months if they found out the truth.

The order pulled at him. Patton looked up at Virgil, ears flat, and the hunter kept stroking his head. He kept his eyes on Virgil as Logan came up from the side, smelling of the same rotten paste. He didn't want to think about the other hunter's hand on his pelt, rubbing stolen magic into his wounds. He didn't want to die like this. He wanted his parents and his brother and his _pack,_ other wolves around him close enough to cuddle, but he'd never have any of that, ever again. All he had was Virgil.

Patton stayed, shuddering, until Logan finished his task. He didn't remember going back to the basement, but he woke up there later that day, hungry again and still clean, still warm, with the pain that had been his constant companion reduced to a manageable throb.

He didn't know how to feel about that. Patton shivered, resisting the urge to scrape off the paste so it would stop _touching_ him, and tried to go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attack, past abuse, communication issues that stem from not knowing one party is sapient.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunters get a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end of chapter.

This time Patton was awake before the basement light even came on, because Virgil was arguing with a stranger outside the door. He didn't recognize the voice, but the stranger's scent seeped under the door: old flesh and decay, hot crumbling rot like a carcass left to the sun- but more than that petrichor, rich dirt and new growth, pollen and eggshells. Like the gore of a new birth, or springtime.

Patton didn't know what to think of it. It was sort of a human scent, so it probably belonged to a hunter like Virgil, but what would make a human smell like _that?_

Virgil opened the door, hissing "Can you not just be quiet for once?" behind him. The person at his shoulder pushed past him and charged down to Patton, making him lurch back; Virgil snapped, "Remus!" and got a rude gesture for his efforts.

Patton wrinkled his nose at the strong whiff of death-in-springtime. Up close it was a lot less pleasant. "Look, Ativanescence, I don't do quiet. If you wanted a sweet little baby spy, you should've gone for Tommy-boy."

"Don't even joke about that," Virgil snapped, and the stranger snickered. "Seriously."

The new hunter looked like a scarred and grimy Roman, except Roman dressed like a prince and this person dressed like he'd climbed out of a junkyard. He reeked of blood: it was crusted in his hair, streaked across his face, soaked into his clothes and starting to stain. There was a slice across his forehead that dripped down into his eyes and plastered his bangs together. It was his blood, though, all of it- even though losing that much should've killed a human.

Patton's bewilderment at that was so overpowering that he hopscotched over fear and landed on curiosity instead. He wanted to stick his nose in the hunter's clothes for a closer sniff. He also wanted to tell him to dunk in a river and wash his hair, and treat his body better because not being reckless meant you got wrecked less- he was proud of that one- but probably that was going too far. He was supposed to be a dumb animal. He knew what would happen if he acted like anything else.

Virgil flicked on the light, and Remus gasped. "Holy shit, Nerdy Wolverine wasn't kidding!"

Nerdy who now? Patton looked to Virgil for an explanation, then shrank down as it occurred to him that maybe they were here to kill him without Logan and Roman knowing. That way they could get ingredients without having to give the other two any, and if they found out the truth they could say they were getting rid of a potential threat- 

"Where're we supposed to put him?" Virgil asked, glancing at Patton and biting his lip. "Pollux always checks the house. Wolf's not gonna fool a detection spell."

"We could put him six feet under," Remus suggested, and Patton bristled. "Always works for me!"

"I'm talking about the wolf."

"Hide him in a closet like a gay dude. Or, ooh, here's a thought, think he'd squeeze under your bed if you told him to?"

"Monster under the bed," Virgil drawled. "Yeah, that's the last thing we need." He frowned, glowering at the stairs. "What about the attic? Could you-"

"Yeah, sure, leave it to me," Remus said with a shrug. "Also, you owe me a dildo for this."

"Deal, as long as you never tell me why you look like Carrie White on prom night."

"I dunno what her problem was, I'd love getting dunked in pig's blood. It's like a hunter version of golden showers!"

"This just in on phrases I never want to hear," Virgil muttered. He crouched in front of Patton and said, "Hey, wolf. Sorry to wake you up, but life sucks, so we have to deal with it. Follow me, okay?"

They went into the hallway, where Virgil stopped to glare at the trapdoor leading to the attic. "Will he even fit through that?"

Remus pulled it open, dragging down a dilapidated folding staircase. Patton pinned back his ears. "Only one way to find out! Whaddaya say, Big Sad Wolf?"

Patton gave him a blank look. Virgil sighed. "Try to get through if you can," he ordered, and Patton tentatively put his weight on the first step. It didn't splinter apart, which was... good, he guessed? Unless the second one did. Or the third. Usually he'd be in human form for something like this.

Patton suppressed his nerves and trotted up, flinching at every creak. He squeezed his shoulders through and emerged into a hot, muggy room, empty except for a couple of cardboard boxes and caked in dust. He slunk to the side, settling down where the floorboards seemed more likely to hold his weight, and Virgil and Remus climbed up after him. 

"If he scans the house-"

"Stop worrying, Finding Emo. It's almost like you don't trust me!" Remus tromped across the room, staring at the ground, then made a pleased noise. "Here we go! Eavesdropping central. Wanna see if Specs takes off his shirt?"

"Don't," Virgil snarled, and Patton cringed back with a startled whimper. Virgil's glare had turned venomous, hands curling at his sides; Remus met it with dark, glimmering eyes, and Virgil broke eye contact first. "Just- help me hide the wolf," he said, crossing his arms. "The last thing we need is to give them more problems."

"Speak for yourself, I love causing problems," Remus said, sinking his teeth into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. The flesh tore with a spurt of fresh blood, and Patton shrank back. Virgil gave the wound a distasteful look. 

"It's all about the process, you know, I'm very creative. I create all sorts of shit, and most of it doesn't even come out of my ass! Spells like this need more than a smidge of pizzazz." He reached over and traced something on Patton's forehead, blood so hot it scalded his fur.

The spell dropped over him in a veil of cold. Patton shivered and fluffed out his fur. 

"There!" Remus declared. "Now he feels like a millipede."

"Thanks." Virgil flopped down between them and squinted through the floorboards. "Is he here yet? What if he heard us?"

"We'll just start sucking face," Remus said, reaching over to muss Virgil's hair. Virgil shoved him back with a grimace. "He's not gonna question makeouts."

"I dunno," Virgil said, hunkering down on his elbows and rolling his eyes. Patton shuffled tentatively closer to him, trying to steal his warmth. Virgil absently patted his side. "I like to think I have better taste than that."

Remus waggled his eyebrows. "You can taste me again if you want."

"Don't imply that in front of the wolf," Virgil scolded, red dusting his cheeks. "He's sensitive."

Patton privately agreed. They could keep all that kinda talk to themselves.

The hunters went quiet, and he shifted, pressing his head between his paws so it looked like he was going back to sleep. The angle let him see through a gap in the boards, and he realized what Remus meant by eavesdropping: they had a clear view into the living room.

He could see the tops of Roman and Logan's heads; Roman was meandering into the kitchen and back, pacing divots into the floor. "How does the Association even know? It's been twelve hours! They despise Maxwell!"

"Clearly not to the degree that they despise us," Logan said. His spine was one long line of tension, like a wire drawn taut; Patton could feel the house wards swelling and receding with his careful breathing, overwhelming even with the collar's muffling. He couldn't smell Logan over Remus, but he wasn't completely dumb. He knew what fear looked like when it tried to hide.

Roman paced the length of the room again, hand on his sword. "Oh, shut up, Microsoft Nerd, what if she's really angry this time? Are you certain-"

"I'm _fine_ , Roman," Logan gritted out. "Please at least try to act like we aren't hiding contraband."

The doorbell rang, making Virgil jump; Patton heard Logan draw a quick, shaky breath. Roman bit his lip. "I still might be able to head him off."

"Don't bother." Logan stepped out of view. Roman straightened his shoulders, muttered something too quiet to hear, and followed him.

The hunters came back with someone blond and pale. Virgil grimaced at the sight of him, but Patton barely registered his reaction; he was too busy recoiling in horror and disgust, terror reaching into his rib cage to squeeze his heart.

The stranger stank of bile and metal, deadlocked fear and mad ravaged agony. He smelled like beings pushed to the brink, unable even to die- like helplessness and torture and begging for _mercy_ -

Like the warehouse, but a thousand times worse. Patton wanted to scrabble through the wall and run for his life. He wanted to lunge down and tear out the hunter's throat, to die, anything to escape that horrible smell and the monster who carried it. He couldn't understand how Roman and Logan could bear it.

They were hunters. They'd been raised to it. He knew that, he did, but that anyone could smell _that_ and invite the stranger in _anyway_ -

The monster said in a clipped, irritated tone, "Thank you, Roman. I see you remembered some semblance of etiquette in letting me in before an hour passed."

"You have my deepest apologies for the wait," said Roman. "We'd just been shopping, you see, and you know how some foods get if they aren't refrigerated in a timely manner-"

"Stop talking," the stranger said, and Roman's mouth clicked shut. "I never remember how I love silence until I meet you again face to face. You'd think a twenty-year-old would have some concept of internalized thoughts, but I suspect that's always been too much to ask of you. Acolyte Sanders, am I welcome in your dwelling?"

The words had the cadence of a ritual. Logan let the pause stretch, watching the stranger's expression sour, and finally said, "Enter, Executive Michelakis. You are welcome in my home."

"Much appreciated." Michelakis sat, giving the beat-up couch a distasteful look, and said, "Two weeks ago, you reported the elimination of a ghoul in Tampa. Guild law entitles us to fifty percent of the kill, and yet your tribute is nonexistent. Was there something wrong with the corpse?" Roman glanced at Logan and kept quiet.

"I was the one to make the kill," Logan said, carefully even. "Virgil became unconscious at the beginning of the hunt, and Roman was otherwise occupied at the time. By Regulation 8-42, pertaining to hunts involving excommunicated members, I claimed the corpse."

"Regulation 8-42 is for conditional excommunication," Michelakis said. "For full excommunication, 8-44 comes into play. You should have ceded it to your superior."

Logan's knuckles were white on the arms of the chair. "Roman is not my superior."

"You are all hunters living in the same dwelling," Michelakis said, eyes like ice. His tortured magic swelled and banked against Logan's wards, making Logan hiss in a breath. "Initiate Virgil was involved as well. The corpse should have passed to him and thus to his superior. _Not_ to you."

"Initiate Virgil was not the one to _make the kill-"_

"Hang on," Roman sputtered, waving a hand at Logan. The other hunter cut off like he'd been shot. "The dwelling rule doesn't apply to hunters outside the guild!"

"If Acolyte Sanders were truly outside the Guild," Michelakis said with exaggerated patience, "it would not be a concern. But I think we're all aware he can't afford to be motivated by self-interest. Regulation 6-24B states that an excommunicated hunter's blood relatives may take up the slack for their previous contributions. So far, we've been making an exception out of consideration for Thomas's age. But if you've truly decided to cut all ties..."

The room went still, and Logan's wards surged up in a wave, searing the etchings on the walls a hot, electric blue. Patton cringed, collar sparking agony down his spine. 

"Control yourself, _Acolyte_ ,” Michelakis snapped. “You knew the terms when you accepted your exile."

Logan took a deep, seething breath, and the wards ebbed to a furious simmer. Roman said, casting the other hunter a panicked glance, "Surely you're not implying that you'd send a child on an active hunt. Why, that- that would be dishonorable!"

"Perhaps," Michelakis said, dispassionate. "But the training age _can_ be adjusted for special cases. It's not out of the question for your nephew to accompany more experienced hunters for instruction."

"Thomas would not be accompanying more experienced hunters," Logan gritted out, "because Thomas is not a hunter at all. The age at which he begins training is _twelve."_

"If you wish for Thomas to remain with his age group, the chairwoman kindly suggests that you pay your debts from the ghoul. With interest." Beside Patton, Virgil's lips drew back in a snarl. Patton pinned his ears to his skull.

"And what would this _interest_ entail?"

"If you'd happened to acquire something more valuable as of late," Michelakis said, "that would suffice."

The words crashed through Patton's skull like an avalanche. Something more _valuable_ . Logan's kiddo would get hurt if they didn't pay their debts, and they _had_ that payment, they'd bought it yesterday and it couldn't run from them, couldn't even struggle when they gave it up.

The guild would be suspicious. They'd test him with silver, learn the truth and lock him up for ages while they took every usable part out of him over and over, till he couldn't even cry, couldn't scream, couldn't remember anything but unending _agony_ and what if he gave up his parents, his cousins, his _brother-_

"I can't imagine what you're referring to," Logan said, and Patton's thoughts stuttered to a halt. Virgil was a ball of tension beside him. "Are you under the impression that we've gained something of value lately?"

"You were seen leading an animal into your house last night."

Remus whispered, _oops!_ and Virgil elbowed him in the ribs. 

Below, Logan asked, "Was there photographic evidence?"

"Word of mouth," Michelakis said. "Corroborated by a truth spell, of course. Our informant was _very_ certain of her information."

Roman snorted. "If your informant happens to be a busybody by the name of Miranda, I'm afraid you're out of luck. She'd call a passing coywolf a pet if it got us in trouble."

Michelakis gritted out, "The identity of the informant is irrelevant."

"On the contrary," Logan said, "the existence of bias in a witness is incredibly important, especially in 'he-said, she-said' situations. Our neighbor claimed we have an animal in the house. We are claiming otherwise. Which of those declarations has your own investigation corroborated?"

"If you're hiding contraband, _Acolyte_ -"

"Executive Michelakis," Logan said, perilously close to condescending, "are you currently ranked as a Novice?"

"No," Michelakis hissed, "obviously, I am not. If you insist on this game of make-believe-"

Logan interrupted _again_ , "And did you not scan my home as soon as you entered? Did you happen to notice the presence of a large magical creature and leave it unremarked?"

"Ah, Logan," Roman started, and Logan cast him a sharp look. "I believe he understands your point." He smiled at Michelakis, charming and conciliatory. "Is it so hard to believe that our neighbor may have been wrong? If you haven't sensed anything, perhaps it's because there's nothing to sense."

"You understand that I'll have to search your house to make sure," Michelakis snapped, and Logan rose to his feet, smothering the air with ozone and steel.

"I do not, actually," he said, and the temperature plummeted to biting cold. "You had the right to scan my home, as two members of your guild live here, but you do not have the right to inspect a property to which an excommunicated member holds the deed. Now that you've delivered your message, our visit is over. Would you like me to remind you of the location of the door?"

Michelakis's magic burned with hatred. Patton stifled a horrified whimper, sure that any moment now Logan and Roman would be torn apart, and sure they were hunters by dying by this monster's hand would be _terrible-_

"You have three days to pay your debt," the monster said, low, "or your nephew will be accompanying the Association's hunters for that purpose. Is that understood, Acolyte?"

"Of course," Logan said through clenched teeth. "Now _leave,_ Pollux. I have business to conduct, and you've overstayed your welcome."

The wards relaxed as soon as the executive left, slamming the door behind him, and Logan slumped, drawing a pale hand down his face. "I hate him," he said in frustration. "I am the opposite of emotional and I _hate_ him. How is that logical?" It sounded reasonable to Patton, especially since Logan had been showing emotion all day _and_ the night before, but maybe that was a hunter thing.

"If it helps, I hate him too," Roman said, and Logan gave a brief, hysterical giggle. "Specs, are you sure you're-"

"I'll need you to access the Association library," Logan said. Roman drew back his hand. "I'll ask Remus for help, if I have to. After the rusalka, I am breaking that damn enchantment. The sooner the wolf is out of the house, the better."

Roman asked tentatively, "So we'll be killing it after all?" 

Patton whined, and Virgil curled a hand in his fur, bizarrely gentle.

"Of course not," Logan said, and for the second time that day Patton's thoughts went off the rails. "Then we'd have to give half of it to the Association."

"The Association that doesn't know it exists," Roman clarified, and Logan stiffened, clenching his fists.

"If you need me, I'll be doing research," he bit out. "Be sure to feed the direwolf the proper amount for its size. I've left the calculations on the counter."

He disappeared into the hallway, and Roman muttered a quiet curse. Virgil winced, Remus laughing aloud, but Patton didn't flinch at the sudden burst of noise. Logan's words were repeating in his head, like a sprite mimicking voices, and they were all he could focus on. _Of course not. Of course not. The sooner the wolf is out of the house-_

Hope was painful after so long without, but Patton had always been an optimist. His tail pricked up and started to wag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: threat of harm to a child, implied/referenced torture, treating someone like they're non-sapient, sexual references

**Author's Note:**

> TW: character mistaken for non-sapient, captivity, dehumanization, threat of death, threat of stolen organs, threat of mutilation, animal abuse, magical compulsion


End file.
